Periphery
by iRamble
Summary: Things might have gone a little differently for Sam had his life stayed on the track he'd set. But despite however much independence he may have wanted, there would still be times when Sam needed his older brother. Times like his wedding day for example. [Absolutely no romance etc. just brotherly bonding and feels].


**Disclaimer**: _All characters appearing in Supernatural are copyright Kripke/CW/WB etc. No infringement of these copyrights is intended. This fanfic is my original work of fiction based on those characters/that universe. No Beta's were harmed during the writing of this fic._

**A/N:** _Not season specific and no spoilers._

**A/N:** _This reads as a complete standalone but is in fact a chapter from a much longer (and as yet unpublished) fic which I just can't seem to finish. In case anyone's interested in the longer story, I'm working on it, I swear! If not, it's not important, this can be read in isolation :-)_

* * *

**Periphery**

Sam sat on the sun-dappled bench under a canopy of pastel pink cherry blossom. He was hidden from the church by the draping branches of a nearby willow tree that leaned from the banks of the small lake on the parish grounds. Swans glided across the water, the surface shimmering like cut crystal, the ripples left in the wake of their carefree exodus reaching the edge and gently lapping against the bank, close enough for Sam to hear.

A light breeze stirred the blossom, rousing the warm air like the gentle caress of a lover, releasing petals and perfume across the air to mingle with the scent of freshly cut grass.

The day was perfect. There was perfection all around him. The skies were endless and blue, the clouds as fluffy and white as to be almost unreal. Flowers bloomed and birds sang, colours and melodies so harmoniously matched, they seemed arranged by the senses of a maestro.

Everything was perfect.

And yet…

Nothing was perfect.

Sam had no doubt that Jess would look more beautiful than anyone he had ever seen, had no doubt that when she entered that church, there would be a collective intake of breath at the sheer radiance of her beauty. He had no doubt that her parents and family were happy, that they approved of her choice, had no doubt that the priest would comment that he'd never seen a more perfectly matched couple. Sam had no doubt that children would think Jess was a princess or an angel and had no doubt that the bridesmaids would be just a little envious of her perfection. He had no doubt that Jess would be looking forward to the idyllic life that he'd promised to share with her, looking forward to marrying the man she thought him to be.

No Sam had no doubts about any of that, had no doubts about the perfection of anything…. other than himself.

He sat on the picnic table, feet resting on the bench seat, and held his head in his hands. His heart was hammering in his chest and suddenly he felt he couldn't breathe.

What the hell was he doing?

_What the hell was he doing?_

He was a hunter. He would _always_ be a hunter. He had forged this life, pretending to fit in, to be something he wasn't, but the pretence had worked too well. The charade had gone too far.

In a few hours, he would be married, to the most amazing, most beautiful, perfect woman he could ever have envisaged and it was all based on lies. All based on a dangerous web of deceit.

Hunters didn't get married.

Hunters didn't have families.

There was a reason.

Sure, he'd left that life, sure he'd carved himself a new one. But werewolves wouldn't care. Vampires wouldn't care. Witches and monsters and god only knew what else, none of those things would care. Wouldn't care that he'd stopped hunting. Wouldn't care that he'd gotten out. Somewhere down the road, 5, 10, 20 years from now, something would come round, sniffing for revenge for something he'd done when he'd been living the hunter's life with John and Dean. And it would be Jess who would pay. Of all the lesson's he'd learnt from John, from Mary, wasn't that lesson number one? The one he'd learnt right from the start, the one he always feared the most, the one that kept him awake at night. More so now than ever before, because now there was someone real to fill that role.

The woman you loved always died.

He knew that. He knew it.

And beyond that, beyond the supernatural, he just didn't have it in him. What the hell did he know about taking care of someone? Of taking care of a family? That'd been Dean's role and hell! Sam had abandoned his part in shouldering that responsibility, had turned tail and ran.

"_What the hell am I doing?_" He whispered to himself "_What the hell am I …"_ but the words caught in his throat as it constricted, tears smarting his eyes and his breaths became shallow.

And the panic set in.

He had to leave. That was all there was to it, the only option, the only right thing to do. Jessica would understand, in time. And even if she never did, it didn't matter, it was the right thing to do. Sure she'd hurt for a while but he'd be doing her a favour, he'd be saving her life, from him and all the things that could come back to get him. She was tough, she'd get over it. There'd be a million other guys, way better than he was, lining up to treat her right. Treat her better than he could. He didn't deserve any of this, and neither did Jess.

"_I can't do this. I need to get out… I can't–_"

The clink-clink-fizz of beer bottles being opened caused him to jump, and his head shot up, mouth dropping open at the sight of Dean, _Dean!_, calmly perched there next to him, beer bottles in hand and eyes squinting to focus on some unseen point on the horizon beyond the far edge of the lake.

For a moment Sam thought he was having a stroke and the loose wiring in his brain was fooling him, or that he was dying and this was some kind of last minute death spasm hallucination. Because how else, _why_ else, would Dean, (_Dean!_), be there?

"Don't tell me you've gone and joined AA?" Dean said at last giving Sam a sidelong glance, then nudging his chin towards the beer held out towards him.

Sam shook his head in confusion, eyes blinking as he stared at his brother, then at the beer bottle, before belatedly reaching out for it in a daze. Dean nodded an 'alright then', clinked the neck of his bottle against Sam's and took a long deep swig, eyes back on the horizon and face unreadably calm.

Sam was back to staring at him, mouth working overtime to get some saliva going, trying to think of something to say, but his mind drew a blank and his palate remained parched.

"You better start making a dent in that one." Dean said, not meeting Sam's gaze but lifting up the remainder of a six-pack and dangling it front of his face before placing it back on the bench. "We got a few more to get through. And nobody likes warm beer Sammy."

Sam finally broke the stare, looking instead at the beer in his hand and then, after a moments pause, started downing the liquid as though his life depended on it. Next to him, he heard Dean chuckling, and the sound soothed him more than the alcohol could have ever done.

Now that his eyes were off Dean, Sam was too scared to look at him again, scared that he'd imagined it, scared that he was dreaming. Scared it wouldn't be him.

In his periphery vision, he could sense the edges of his form, the blurred image of his brother, and it made Sam's throat constrict again. It was like when he'd started college all those years ago, walking around campus and thinking he could see Dean from the corner of his eye. In that illusive space that was just out of reach, the periphery of his life where Dean would live forever, in the guise of everyone and anyone, as long as Sam didn't focus too hard. As long as Sam didn't push. He was the guy with the battered leather jacket walking away quickly to escape the rain, or the guy tilting his head to talk flirtatiously to a girl. The guy sitting alone in the shadowy corner of the bar. The guy leaning against the hood of a ride, silhouetted against the moonlight, holding a beer. The guy that was always there, in the corner of his eye, the periphery of his life. Always, just almost, always, there.

But Sam would fall for that illusion time and time again, would pursue and push just that little bit too hard, like pressing on glass just a fraction too much, not easing up when he knew he should, because he wanted, _craved_, for it to be true. But the illusion would shatter the instant he turned and looked, pressed and focused. Then he'd see that the build didn't quite match, the height wasn't quite right, the looks were off, the voice was wrong, and his credulous hope would shatter around him, leave him wishing he'd let the illusion exist that little bit longer, because he was always disappointed that it was never Dean, and that disappointment would always hurt as much as always, hurt unexpectedly sharply. Because it was never Dean and Dean wasn't there. His heart would beat a little more empty every time, because it was never Dean.

Because Dean. Wasn't. There.

Even when he'd settled with Jess, for months he'd still half expected Dean to come and get him, still found himself walking into the living room at night, with an inexplicable feeling of anticipation, thinking he'd find Dean standing there, having broken in like some intruder in the dark, irreverent shameless smile plastered on that smug arrogant face and some story about needing him back in the family business tripping guilelessly off his tongue, pulling him back into the folds of his life.

But it had never happened, and as he'd stand on those nights in that empty room, somewhere in his gut, somewhere hidden deep and secret where he would never truly confront it, there had always been a bitter little kernel of disappointment about that, about not walking in on Dean. No matter how much he would protest his desire to never want to return to the hunting life, there had always been a secretly harboured feeling inside of Sam that Dean's lack of existence in his life, that his own distance and absence from Dean's, it was all somehow just wrong. As if something galactic had been miscalculated or realigned somewhere because this just wasn't how it was supposed to have been. Even after so many years, it was a feeling, deep inside, that would wriggle and squirm like a live worm in his gut, keeping him awake some nights. Because despite all the good things in his life, despite all the success, something just felt off. Something just felt wrong.

Because Dean wasn't there.

As the months and years had passed, and Dean had never turned up, Sam had buried that worm infested kernel ever deeper, and though it had never, ever, been truly hidden, it had at least been pushed far away.

And just as Sam had given up all hope, seemingly from out of nowhere, Dean was back, Dean was here, and Sam still wasn't quite sure he could believe it.

After several long swigs from the bottle, the beer had finally loosened Sam's brain up a little, and the shock of seeing Dean was beginning to wear off, enough to enable Sam to process what was happening with a more rational, reasonable mind-set.

No death spasm hallucinations, no stroke induced visions.

No. Dean must have simply received the message, Sam realised. The one he'd sent a while ago, not even sure if the number belonged to Dean anymore. He'd wavered back and forth about whether or not to send it. Half of him had thought it wouldn't make any difference and half of him knew he wouldn't be able to bear it if it was left ignored by Dean. It took him days to finally send it, weeks to stop checking for a response. Then weeks again for it to occur to him that maybe Dean was dead. But no, he'd assured himself, had that been the case, even John would have had the decency to call him. Dean would have been the only thing that could have brought the two extremes in the Winchester clan back together.

After a while, after the months had passed, the radio silence had grown so much that Sam had stopped hoping for any response at all. Assumed the number he knew off by heart was no longer Dean's and assumed he had no way of contacting his brother any more. It had hurt, but it had been easier to accept that than to think Dean had received the message and had simply not bothered to show up.

But Dean _had_ received the message. And Dean _had_ showed up. And now, for the life of him, for all the time he'd spent missing him, Sam couldn't think of a damn thing to say.

He finished his beer, took a deep breath, caught the shake in his hands as he accepted another bottle from Dean and still couldn't say a word.

After two sips more, he finally felt calmer.

"I… I didn't think you'd got the message."

"What's not to get. You said you were getting married."

"I didn't think you'd come."

"Well, it wasn't exactly an invitation Sam."

Sam. Not Sammy. And the words cut. For all that they were true, they cut. And they _were_ true, now that Sam thought about it. His message, it hadn't been an invitation, he hadn't _invited_ Dean or his father. He'd simply told them that it was happening. Looking at it like that, from their side, what the hell had he expected, from either of them? What the hell were they supposed to say to that? The way they'd parted, the way he'd left things, especially with John, they could have read it as a warning not to show and it would have been his own fault. His own arrogance that caused it.

His apology felt petty on his tongue, petulant and insufficient and he had to turn his head and take a few deep breaths. When he turned back he was startled to find Dean staring at him with that same measured stare that Sam remembered oh so well from childhood. The one that could pull him up short, the one that could make him squirm. But then Dean looked away again, sipping slowly at his beer and taking a deep, almost contented breath.

"Is Dad … Is he… He here?" Sam asked, holding his breath, not realising how much he'd wanted John to be there till he'd let go of his own ego and asked the question.

"No." Dean replied, without hesitation, as though it didn't even matter. "Had a gig up in Wichita, couldn't wait."

Sam nodded, accepting that and not wanting to dwell on the disappointment he felt. "Dean…" He began, but he didn't know where to go from there. There were so many things he wanted to say, so many things he needed to say. So many things he needed to hear. But he didn't even know where to start.

And John not being there, it hurt more deeply, more keenly, than he'd expected. A part of him was relieved the elder Winchester hadn't shown, knew they would have only ended up arguing.

But a part of him couldn't let go of the fact that _John hadn't shown_. His own father. A part of him couldn't help the disappointment, the resentment.

The anger.

As always, as if he could sense the tension or read his mind, Dean spoke up.

"You know, it's not like he didn't want to be here man. He did… He just…" He shrugged, trying to find the words, and it made Sam's anger flare even more, despite it all.

As always, Dean was trying to defend the man who was, as far as Sam was concerned, a failure as a father.

"Had more important things to do." Sam finished off for Dean, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice. "The job always comes first, right?"

"Sam–"

"No it's okay Dean. Same old Dad, gotta fight the good fight. I don't know why I expected him to have changed."

"Oh and like you have?" Dean shot back harshly, eyes hard and angry, before they relented and softened. "Look, can we just… can we _not_? … You and Dad, I can't keep trying to fix things between the two of you."

"No one ever asked you to Dean." Sam retorted hotly, angry at Dean now for some reason that escaped him. "You know you always defended him, even when he was wrong? And he was wrong a _lot_, whether you admit it or not. I hated it then and I hate it now. For once I wish you'd just… I wish you'd just admit that he's not perfect. I wish you'd stop taking his side."

"_His_ _side?_..." Dean scoffed, "Right… Coz all those times I got my ass handed to me when I defended yours was coz I was on_ his side_. Right." But there was no humour in his tone and his eyes had turned hard and angry again. "Stupid me for wanting a happy family." And he looked away, shaking his head.

Sam instantly regretted everything. He always hated arguing with Dean, especially when it wasn't even _Dean_ he was ever really angry at. But it was somehow always Dean that he ended up venting at and hurting. It was always Dean, with the most noble of intentions, who ended up getting caught in the self-same crossfire he wanted to avert.

Sam was about to about to apologise, about to take it all back, when Dean faced him and spoke up again.

"Tell me something Sam, you send that non-invite invite to Dad too? Or were you just hoping I'd pass it on, save your ego the bruising? ... Huh?" He glared at Sam accusingly and Sam had to look away, waves of shame and guilt washing over him, uncovering his truth. "Yeah that's what I thought." Dean said, nodding and smiling humourlessly. "I've had it with you two… I get it. You hate each other's guts. Whatever. I don't care anymore."

Despite his outburst, Dean's anger was still there, the jagged brittle energy of it crackling around him, and he got up, taking a step towards the lake, his back to Sam, and the anger seeming to cause the air around him to buzz.

"Dean–"

"No you know what?" Dean said, spinning around to face Sam and cutting him off, voice cold and harsh. "You don't want me to take sides, you don't want me to get in the middle of it? Fine. _Stop putting me in the middle of it!_ Next time you want him at some milestone event in your life Sam, grow a pair! Ask him yourself! Coz I swear man, I _swear_, I've had it with you two. I'm done. You hear me? _I'm_. _Done_… You two… you're both as bad as each other."

And he turned his back on Sam again, still shaking his head.

"You really think that?" Sam asked after a moment, anxiety underpinning the question. "That we're the same?"

But for once Dean, who was still simmering from the argument, missed the tremor in his younger brother's voice.

"Well, you're both bull-headed, selfish and stubborn. And you both seem to _love_ thinking that I take sides when you decide to go at it, so yeah Sam, you two are a lot more alike than you think…." But even as he snapped his reply, the anger was leaving him, because he knew he hadn't come all that way just to argue with his younger brother. "Hell, I don't know man." Dean continued, sighing and running a hand over his face, both actions seeming to wipe the agitation from him and leaving only weariness. "Maybe that's why you two butt heads so much. You're more like him than I am."

And he sighed again as he sat back down, feeling the same old weariness from the same old tension settling back onto his shoulders like a shroud; one that he realised, belatedly, had never really lifted at all. He wondered why he'd ever hoped it might.

Dean was looking back out to the horizon again, not really seeing it, unspoken thoughts dancing behind his eyes.

They sat in silence for a while, each lost to their own thoughts until the silence could have almost seemed amiable, except that Sam was far from restful. When Dean finally turned back to his younger sibling, the patented Dean Winchester mischief playing under his features to signify that all was forgiven, and smirk ready to glibly expel some smart ass or lewd quip that had been brewing in his head, he stopped short at the sight of Sam's obvious unhappiness and disquiet.

"What?" Dean asked, not quite able to keep the irritation from his voice.

Sam shook his head, but it was more the action of someone trying to articulate his feelings, than an outright denial of anything, so Dean waited, giving Sam time to marshal his thoughts.

"What if…. What if I _am_ like him?" Sam asked at last. "Like Dad I mean?"

If Sam had been able to meet Dean's eyes, he would have seen the hurt that registered deep within the hazel orbs. "… You really hate him _that_ much?" Dean asked softly, after a pause.

"I don't hate him Dean. I just…. I mean, what if it's in my _blood_, you know? What if being like him, it's in my blood? What if… What if I'm just the same?" He finally looked at Dean then, earnestly, only to be met with his older brother's blank stare and confusion.

After a beat, Dean responded.

"Well… that's kinda… You know, genetics and stuff? Of course he's in your blood." And he shook his head. "I thought you were meant to be the smart one."

"No Dean, I mean more than that. I mean what if I'm…." And he looked out across the water, jaw working overtime as he inhaled a shuddered breath.

"What Sam? What if you're what?"

"What if I'm gonna end up just like Dad!?" Sam blurted out, looking back at Dean, voice pitched high with tension and eyes wide as though staring down into a pit of hysteria. "What if it's in my blood? Like in my DNA? I mean come on man! Look at our history! Our grandfather walked out on his family, walked out on Dad…. And I know you don't like hearing it Dean but Dad's never gonna win any family man of the year awards."

"Aw Sammy come on man!"

"No I'm serious Dean! That's two strikes, all the way down to us. All the way down to _me_. And you said it yourself, I'm a lot more like him than you are. What if…. What if I'm just the same? And the way Dad raised us? The history we come from? What the hell do I know about having a normal family life? About being married? About raising kids!?"

Sam clamped his mouth shut, the rawness of his outburst winding him, as if hearing the fears he hadn't even dared to dwell on long enough to ever have articulated before had now suddenly left him feeling shocked, fragile and exposed in the wake of their eruption.

Dean didn't look at him immediately, was instead looking at his hands, nodding as if he'd taken on board everything Sam had said and was measuring it up against some fool proof response. When he did finally lift his head to meet Sam's wild eyed gaze, the surety of his stare made Sam well up, reminding him with a sudden ache of just how much he'd missed his brother's council and reassurances over their years spent apart. Of just how much he'd missed everything that one unmasked look from Dean could so easily provide.

"I know we have our differences about how Dad brought us up." Dean said at last, tone quiet and even. "I know you hate hearing me defend him. And you're right, he's no poster boy for parenting 101. I know that… But I also know he did the best he could by us. Did what he thought was right."

"He put a gun in my hand when I was nine Dean."

"And he saved our lives from a demon since before you were one Sam. What do you want me to say? That monsters don't exist? That crap doesn't happen? That happy families don't end up getting screwed over worse than a turkey at Thanksgiving? Come on Sam! All those things we hunt, all those families we help, it ever occur to you that maybe, just maybe, they never would've needed our help in the first place if someone'd just clued them up sooner? Like Dad did with us?"

Despite seeing the reasoning behind it, Sam couldn't bring himself to agree with that, and sensing his rebuttal, Dean carried on, not giving Sam a chance to retaliate.

"Look, Dad isn't perfect but nothing is. Not in this world. But what you've made for yourself? What you can have? _This._ It looks pretty damn close to me Sammy."

"But what if I can't do it? What if I screw it up?"

"Why? Coz you think that's what Dad did? Coz you think that's what our grandfather did?"

"Didn't he?"

"I don't know man… Maybe he, maybe Henry, found a better deal. Or maybe he was abducted by aliens. Or maybe he just ended up face down in a ditch somewhere and no one ever found him. I don't know and frankly _I don't_ _care_! And neither should you. All you should care about is what you know."

"But that's just it Dean! I don't know anything!"

Dean actually laughed at that. "Never thought I'd hear that coming outta your mouth. Shoulda got it on tape for Dad."

"I'm being serious."

"So am I! ... Look, you think our lives were so bad, you think Dad did such a crappy job raising us? Fine. Just do the opposite, do what you're doing. You've always had some inner vision of what you think a perfect life should be like, of what our lives never measured up to, so go with that. Keep aiming for that. You seem to be on track. Just don't go looking to Dad or our Grandad or anyone else as an excuse to throw it all away. Coz if you give up now, I'm telling you Sammy, it'll be nothing to do with genetics or fate or your blood or anything else. It'll be coz _you_ got scared. It'll be coz _you_ gave up. And you can't blame that on Dad, or Henry, or anyone else but you Sammy. Just you."

Dean's outburst had come laden with a torrent of overlapping emotions. Mixed up and interwoven through all of the irritation and agitation, resentment and annoyance, was the constant and genuine love for his brother that never really left Dean. That Dean simply couldn't remove. And there was admiration too, because despite everything else, Dean was still proud of Sam. Still proud of the path he was succeeding on. That only made him all the more irritated at seeing how much his younger brother was doubting himself, especially given how hard he had fought to have the very thing that was now within his grasp. His glare at Sam softened as he saw how scared and small his giant moose of a brother seemed right then. Despite it all, Sam was still Sammy after all and Dean knew as his big brother, he was the only one who could call him on his fears and then quell them. His voice had softened when he spoke up again.

"Look, I know you're scared, but you'll make this work. I know you will. And if you mess up a little along the way, it doesn't matter, it's okay, you'll fix it. But in the end you'll always make it work."

But when Sam looked at him, his eyes were still clouded with worry and self-doubt. "How can you know that Dean?" He asked, voice barely a whisper.

"Because I know _you_ Sammy."

"But what if you're wrong about me? What if…"

"I'm not wrong. I'm adorable and awesome, but I'm not wrong." Dean grinned and even though Sam huffed a smile, Dean knew he was far from convinced and he sighed, needing a breather. He opened the last of the beers, and they sat, staring at the lake which neither was really seeing anymore, so lost were they in their own thoughts. The silence spanned out again till it seemed almost endless, before Dean finally spoke.

"You know this one time," He began, voice so soft there was almost no distinction between his words and his breaths, and Sam found himself, involuntarily, leaning in. "You won't remember," Dean carried on. "You were just a kid, like maybe four or something. And we'd just started getting you to eat at the table with us, coz you kept trying to anyway. And Dad, he got this kids dinner set for you, just some crappy little plastic knife and fork and plate he'd picked up from the grocery store one night. And you," Dean smiled, eyes crinkling fondly at the memory. "You hated it. I mean, you took one look at it and you outright hated it. The moment you saw it, you looked at me, crossed your arms and shook your head. And I told Dad there was no way you'd eat from it … But Dad…. Well, you know how he is. Said you'd learn to accept it. That we had to make you use it. So that first night, we're all set, we're sat at the table, and we were having spaghetti, and Dad put your plate in front of you, and you," Dean started laughing. "First night, very first night, you full on threw the whole plate straight over him. I mean, man you covered him, right over his face."

Dean carried on laughing, and for a moment, Sam forgot to wonder what the point of his story was. "What did Dad do?" He asked, mouth forming a hesitant smile, eyes betraying his caution, his disbelief.

"He just, for a moment, he just sat there, spaghetti all over his face, dripping onto his shirt. Never saw Dad looking so shocked in all my life. And I mean, man! I was so scared! But I was trying so damn hard not to laugh at the same time, you know? And Dad! He got so pissed at you! So I just grabbed you and took you into the other room. And then the next night, you tried to do the same thing, even though I told you, I _told you_ not to. But no matter what, no matter how pissed Dad got, no matter what I said, no matter what food we put in front of you, you wouldn't eat from that plastic plate. Finally Dad had to just give in coz, man, it was like a week or whatever and you weren't eating. So you got your way. We put a regular plate in front of you and you were all smiles and it was like, happy meals all the way, like nothing'd ever happened."

Dean was still smiling, one of his rarely revealed genuine ones that were only ever exposed when all his masks were set aside, when all his defences were completely lowered, and ones that Sam knew were reserved only for very special memories, and very close people. Only actually for him, Sam realised. It set Dean's features aglow and Sam couldn't decide how he felt. There had always been something about that look that, when Dean got it, Sam would feel his insides twist, a feeling like homesickness and yet he felt right at home all at once. Bittersweet. After a moment Dean glanced to his side to catch Sam's gaze, his eyes slightly misty and still burning with the fond memory, smile lingering on his lips.

"You were a pain in the ass Sammy."

Sam shook his head, confused. "Dean I don't get what–"

"Ever since as long as I can remember, since long before I bet _you_ or even Dad can remember, you've always been a pain in the ass."

"Thanks for that." Sam retorted getting annoyed.

"A _stubborn,_ bull-headed, pain in the ass."

"I get it."

"No you really don't… Look, even way back then, when you were four, just _four_ man, no one could push you around. No one could make you do something you didn't wanna do. Not me, not Dad, no one. If you wanted something, there was nothing on God's green earth that would get in your way."

"It was just a dinner plate Dean."

"No, it wasn't. It was Dad. It was the fact that I'd never seen _anyone_, _ever_, stand up to him. And there you were, four years old, stubborn as hell, just outright saying no." But Sam shook his head and Dean sighed. "You really don't get it do you Sammy?"

"Get what Dean? That I don't like plastic plates? I don't like spaghetti?"

"You love spaghetti. But you don't get the point."

"Then what _is_ the point?! There some mystic revelation here? Coz if there is, I'm clearly missing it!"

"When you set your mind to something, when there's something that you want, you'll do anything and everything to make it happen. You've _always_ been that way. It's just the way you are, it's just your… in your DNA I guess… And this?" Dean gestured to their surroundings. "All of _this_? Going to college, marrying Jess, having a perfect life? All of it, man, just look at it! Look how far you've come! This look like a hunters life to you? Coz it's not. It's _your_ life. This is _your_ future Sam. It's not what Dad wanted, it's not what he planned, but it's what _you_ wanted. It's what _you_ fought for. And you're making it happen. You're finally here. Coz you're a bull headed, stubborn pain in the ass Sammy. _Always_ have been… But that's why I _know_ you'll make it work. Whenever you wanted something, nothing and no one could ever stop you. You proved that when you threw that plate at Dad, when you stopped hunting, when you left for college. When you did everything, so…"

Sam sighed, the snapping anger from moments ago dissipating as his brothers words began to sink in.

"_And_," Dean added. "You get all that single-minded stubbornness from Dad by the way, in case you've forgotten what he's like, so maybe it's not all bad, being like him."

Sam snorted a smile, since even _he_ had to acknowledge the truth in that, one he'd never even considered. Trust Dean to see the flip side of everything.

"You really think I can do this?" He asked after a beat.

"Yeah, I do. I wouldn't be out here, toasting your future, if I didn't think you had one…. And I'm not gonna let you jus' run from this Sammy, coz I'm telling you, however else Dad raised you, whatever else he did, he didn't raise you to be a coward. But that's how you're acting… You fought for this, damn near tore us apart for it. So stop being such a bitch and just man up, see it through. Or else you come back to hunting. You come back and you don't ever look back. If that's what you really want, if you can throw this all away…" He shook his head as he looked around at their surroundings, as if taking them in afresh, before turning back to Sam and continuing. "Hell! If you tell me right now you really don't want this, that it's not coz you're scared but coz you really just don't want it, I won't stop you. But don't think for one second you'll get another chance at having this, any of this, again. You won't, ever. So you make a choice Sammy, right now, and you stick to it. You don't back down, you don't run."

Sam nodded, cheeks flushing slightly in shame at the mild reprimand that had hit a truthful nerve.

"Dad raised you better than that at least." Dean added, shrugging as he looked away and took a sip of beer. "And so did I."

It was said calmly, very softly and quietly, but the truth and hurt in that last comment struck Sam as if it had been a blow to the face, and the reality check it made him make was instantly sobering.

For all the time he'd spent resenting John, Sam had overlooked the time he'd spent idolising Dean. Overlooked the time he'd spent learning from and benefiting from Dean's role in his life. It felt to Sam, in that moment, as if a cloudy sky had parted and he could see a ray of hope glancing through. Yes, Sam was John's son. But he was also Dean's brother and that counted for a hell of a lot. And not just because of genetics or blood or family traits. Dean was right about having raised him; in fact he'd had more of a part in Sam's childhood than John or anyone else ever had. But despite all of Dean's efforts, Sam had been so focussed on John's flaws, on John's failings, that he'd overlooked Dean's strengths, Dean's merits. The thought that Dean perhaps felt that Sam overlooked or undervalued him, was hurtful. But, Sam realised with a twinge of shame, the way he'd behaved perhaps it wasn't too inaccurate an assumption to have made.

Sam had always looked up to Dean. When he looked back over his life, at the way Dean had been with him throughout their childhoods, he couldn't think of a better role model to aim for. Dean was one of the best people Sam knew, that Sam had ever known, and they _were_ brothers after all. They had to be more alike than not, and realising that, Sam felt suddenly calmer, more whole than he had done in months. More assured and certain and confident about what he could and couldn't do.

Because Dean was there, because Dean had _always_ been there setting him straight. As long as Sam tried to steer himself the way Dean had steered him, he could never truly go very far awry.

Sam had missed his brother, had missed everything that Dean was and everything he did, even the things that used to irritate him, they had left a big hole in his life, in his heart, and he had never been able to fill it.

He was reminded of that loss keenly in that moment, and possibly fuelled by the quick imbibing of alcohol, he felt overcome with emotions that pricked the corners of his eyes.

"Dean–"

But Dean stood and held up his hand, halting Sam's progress. "Hey! We've had way too many chick flick moments already."

Sam shook his head, relenting with a grin as he got to his feet too. But he wasn't ready for Dean to leave just yet, felt as though he'd only just arrived, and there was so much that Sam wanted to share with his brother. Good things, not just insecurities and concerns, but actual good things that he wanted to share. And he wanted to show everyone in this new life the best from his old life, wanted to show them all who his brother was. For once, Sam didn't want to hide his past, because the best part of it was standing right there in front of him, and it was really something pretty awesome. He realised that now, even if it had taken him a hell of a long time to get there.

"At least come inside Dean. Let me introduce you to Jess." Sam requested but Dean was already shaking his head, even despite his easy smile.

"You really want me in there Sammy? Think about it, all those bridesmaids, most likely Jess' sisters and friends. You really wanna unleash me onto her nearest and dearest?" He raised an eyebrow. "They won't be able to help it. They'll fall in love coz, hell, what's not to love? And you know me, I'll be gone, and then you'll have to spend the rest of your life trying to live up to the awesomeness of Dean Winchester. _Again_. As if you didn't suffer enough of that through your childhood."

"You actually believe half the crap that comes outta your mouth Dean?"

"Whatever dude, I'm doing you a favour. Trust me, it's better this way."

Sam didn't bother fight his smile as he shook his head again and looked away. But then the fear crept back into him and the smile faded.

"Dean–"

"You won't mess up." Dean cut him off.

Sam turned to face him, but Dean pre-empted his fears again.

"You won't." Dean reiterated, fixing him with a gaze so assured, so certain, that it left no room for argument. "I've known you your whole life. Your whole life, I've been watching over you. I know you better than anyone else, better than you know yourself. So I know you got this. You want to make Jess happy and you want that perfect life. The one Mom and Dad had, for a while. And… well you won't believe me but Dad wants it for you too. He does. I think that's why he stayed away, he figured you two would've ended up arguing and he didn't wanna ruin your big day. I mean come on Sammy. I told him last night I was heading out and he didn't even ask me where, didn't even try and stop me. He knew damn well where I was going… and if you think he didn't wanna be here, you're wrong. He just… he just didn't know if he'd be welcome. You can't blame him for that one Sammy. That one's on you."

Sam looked away, his anger and resentment towards John melting a little under the shameful glare of guilt he felt at his own behaviour. "I know." He agreed quietly.

"But…" Dean continued. "He still loves you, despite what you might think. In his own messed up way, everything he does is because loves us. Hell, the man's been avenging Mom our whole lives; he still loves her that much."

"Yeah. I know."

"So if you two _are_ the same in some ways? I don't know Sammy, maybe that's not such a bad thing, you know? You love Jessica, maybe as much as Dad loves Mom. Even if it's just half of that, you'll fight to make it work, you'll fight for what you want. I know that. And if you make the odd little mistake now and then, you'll fix it, you'll get back on track. Because it matters to you… This life, this future, Jess. They matter to you. Like Mom matters to Dad… Like _we_ matter."

'_To each other_', Sam heard, even though Dean never said it. And Dean's easy smile, his steady gaze, the cocksure belief that had always pulled Sam through, pulled him through again, through the last of his doubts. Sam knew Dean was right. About everything. He wanted this, more than he had wanted anything else in his life, he wanted this. He wanted Jess and he wanted that life. And he would fight for it. He _had_ fought for it, like Dean said. Would always fight for it, if his fight was what it took. Why hadn't he realised that himself?

"Besides." Dean continued, hands moving up to straighten Sam's tie and then to brush a speck of errant fluff from off his brothers' shoulder. "You'll never get better than Jess. Seriously dude, she is sooo way outta your league, if you _do_ find a way to screw up this perfect gig? Hell! I'll come kick your ass myself."

Sam had to laugh at that, knowing it was almost true. The last tendrils of fear finally left him, although some anxiety remained. But he knew that was natural. Knew that was a good thing. It meant this mattered. It meant he cared.

Dean's hand lingered on Sam's shoulder, and his expression shifted as he hesitated, as though he were volleying back and forth between conflicting emotions.

"I'm happy for you Sammy." He said at last, slightly awkwardly, grip squeezing Sam's shoulder. "And…" He cocked his head to one side, looking embarrassed for a moment as he looked away, before smiling briefly and shaking his head. He looked Sam straight in the eye then, deeper than Sam thought anyone ever had, as though Dean were looking right inside to the core of him. "And I'm proud of you." He said.

Sam felt as though there were a guitar string running right through him, right through his heart and soul and spirit, and he felt in that moment as though someone had strummed it with a perfect chord, one that left him breathless and speechless and reverberating with the sensation of being loved. He looked at his brother, realising just how long it had been since he'd had the chance to actually look at him, to be with him. Felt just how many things there were that he missed, every day, and suddenly his heart swelled.

_I love you Dean. _

That emotion blazed through him as if his entire being was feeling it all at once.

He wanted to say it. Wanted to pull Dean into an embrace and tell him that he'd never stopped loving him, never stopped missing him, not once. But Dean must have read his mind, because he backed away, giving the shoulder a parting slap before letting go completely.

"Look, I better make a move. And so had you, I guess. Must be about time."

"Come inside Dean, just for a while man, come on."

And for a second, just the tiniest fraction of a split-second, Sam saw it flicker in Dean's eyes; that wavering little hesitation of desire. But it was enough. In that fraction, it was as though Sam could see endless possibilities opening up, perfect futures untangling, unfolding, unfurling and coalescing, and he felt the hope of that desire, the hope of that future, envelop him completely; he would introduce Dean to everyone, everyone would love Dean of course, he would be convinced by Sam and Jess to stay, he'd meet someone good for him and that would settle him down, he would give up hunting for this new life. He'd get a job, he'd get a proper house, close to Sam. He'd have kids. The two of them, he and Dean, would take their families, kids in tow, away for long weekend trips. Dean would light the campfire easily and Sam would have forgotten why they were both so good at doing that, at lightening fires, at burning things. He and Dean would sit side by side, staring down the sunsets at the end of lazy carefree days, sharing a cold beer and watching their kids playing with an innocence neither of them had ever known in their own lives, and knowing they'd gotten out, knowing they'd survived. Just being content to simply be, and simply being close again.

But then Dean blinked and the hesitation was gone, the future dismantled and dissolved to nothing more than a credulous daydream, lost to the breeze, and all those sunsets Sam had seen all dipped and died beyond the horizon, leaving nothing but that same dark uncertainty spanning out endlessly before him again.

"I'm not dressed for it dude, look at me. And besides," Dean took a step back, eyes friendly but resolute and already, somehow, distant again, as if a part of him had already left. "I'm running late. Got a job to get to."

Sam frowned. He didn't want to know, but then, how could he not worry. "What is it?"

"Run of the mill haunting. Nothing serious. But…" He shrugged. Took another step back and Sam's heart ached as he saw Dean's mask slip perfectly into place, saw the impenetrable walls rise up, letting him know Dean was already gone. Sam had lost him, again, and he wasn't ready. Sam was about to close the distance between them, Winchester pride be damned, but then someone called his name.

He turned to see Jess' brother beckoning him that it was time. He shouted back a reply, was met with another question and shouted a repeat of his reply.

When he turned back to the lake, his heart dropped away into the empty space that greeted him. Dean was gone. He turned to the side and from the corner of his eye, in that spot, he glimpsed his brothers receding form as he disappeared around the building, retreating back to that peripheral space where he always lived, and Sam knew he couldn't follow him.

But still, he couldn't move. Had to stand for a moment, heart aching, but still more solid than it had been for days, for weeks. Maybe months.

The bottle caps lay on the picnic table and without knowing why he reached for one, the one that had been closest to Dean. He hadn't noticed it before but he saw the logo now, the insignia etched onto the metal. Two guns, possibly rifles, barrels crossed over one another without any delineation, as if they became one. They could have been Winchester rifles, although they probably weren't, it was too small and undetailed an imprint to know for certain. But he let himself believe they were. As he clasped his hand around the cap, the edges dug into the skin of his palm even as the smoothness of the top grazed his fingers, the coolness of it dissipating through his skin and over his hand.

Wasn't that just so Dean? He thought.

Smooth and cool, strong and rough around the edges.

He dropped it into his pocket as he headed for the church. It would stay there and he would clasp his fingers around it just once during the ceremony, seeking strength and solace. His eyes had flitted briefly to the back of the church then, just for a second, and he thought he'd seen someone standing there, someone who'd just slipped in unseen and stood back in the shadows. That familiar silhouette. He didn't push the glass this time, didn't test the illusion, he let that one stay and chose to believe it was real. His fingers closed briefly around the bottlecap before he let it go.

He would forgot about it then till after the honeymoon, and then, much to Jess's bemusement, he'd use her Dad's drill kit to make a hole in it and use it as a key chain.

And whenever anyone ever asked him about it, he'd just smile and shake his head. Tell them it was the reason he'd married Jess. And they'd think it was a joke. She'd think it was a joke. Think he meant that he'd married her because he was drunk. He'd never correct them; it wouldn't matter what anyone else ever thought, because he'd know the truth.

Whenever he needed strength or resolve or something beyond himself, that bottle cap would find its way into his hand, edges digging in around his clasped fist, a stark sharp reality check reminding him where the best of his strength, the best of _him_, came from. _Who_ it came from. Not John, not Henry, not even himself.

But Dean.

He was so used to holding it in times of stress, like when his children were born or when he was waiting to hear the results of his bar exam, that clasping it, rubbing his thumb over and over it, had become a second nature sub-conscious response by now. The imprint of the brand now faded and worn to a ghost of before, the metal smoothed from years of handling, but the effect was still the same. Still comforting to Sam.

He was doing it again in the motel room as he read a lore book, when Dean walked in, take out fast food bags in hand. The elder hunter stopped mid-stride as he eyed his younger brother, remained standing in the doorway of their motel room for a beat before speaking up.

"You developed a closet drinking problem we need to talk about Sam? ... Like… should I arrange an intervention or…?" Dean was eyeing the bottle cap and Sam followed his gaze, smiling when he realised what he'd been doing and held it up for Dean to see more clearly, letting it dangle from the key chain.

"It's from our wedding, Jess' and mine. Remember?"

Dean stared at him for a moment more, the mask slipping momentarily, emotions dancing behind his eyes, before the composure returned and he shook his head at Sam, closing the door behind him with the heel of his boot and continuing his journey into the room.

"You're such a chick."

And Sam smiled, shaking his head. He was willing to let it slide, because he'd seen the look that had passed behind Dean's eyes, had seen that Dean remembered and understood what it had meant to Sam. That look told Sam it had also meant something to Dean too, more than he could articulate, and more than he would ever admit.

Sam watched Dean as he unpacked the food onto the small table and he suddenly felt overcome with the urge to say something.

"Dean…" Sam started, not quite sure what it was he wanted to say.

"Uhm?" Dean responded, still focussed on the food, before finally looking up when Sam didn't respond. "What?"

"Just… Thank you… For… You know…" He finished with a shrug.

"Uh-huh." Dean said, giving him another look before tossing him a burrito. "They were all out of salad."

"I mean it Dean."

"So do I. No salad. I mean it's not like I went in there and the chick was so smoking hot I thought there's no way I'm gonna ask for rabbit food and make her think I'm some kind of tree hugging hippy so didn't bother to ask for the salad and got her number instead…. Or anything."

Sam sighed as he got up and made his way over to the table to join his brother. Dean was grinning smugly.

"Dude, check it out." And he held up the receipt with a phone number scrawled on the bottom. "Kandice… with a K. Like Kandy… If that was with a K."

"Right. Sounds… great."

"Uh huh." Dean nodded, smile still in place. "She's got a twin sister." He said, waggling his eyebrows.

"Dude! I'm married!"

"Yeah but I'm not." Dean replied, grin spreading even wider, eyebrows rising in obscene triumph.

"Dude, that's…. Never mind. Did you at least get me a juice?"

"Were out of juice. Got you a beer."

"They were out of…? Where the hell did you go?"

"A place with good burritos and hot chicks with hot sisters who finish work in like four hours. So you come up with anything?"

Sam sighed and shook his head in exasperation again as he took a seat and bit into the food, silently and begrudgingly admitting it was pretty damn tasty.

He filled Dean in on what he'd unearthed while Dean kept looking at his watch.

Neither mentioned the keychain, and Sam in fact forgot about it completely.

But that was understandable.

He didn't need it, when he had the real thing back in his life again.

* * *

_The End._

_Thank you for reading._


End file.
